


The Old Guard

by Lisbeth_laufeyson



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt, F/F, F/M, Immortality, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisbeth_laufeyson/pseuds/Lisbeth_laufeyson
Summary: Whether curse of blessing, immortality has been bestowed on a handful of people throughout the ages. Five such people have endured since the rebellion of Spartacus, in fact, they fought by his side. Over the course of the long years their friendships ebbed and flowed until a few hundred years ago, the last of them finally broke permenant company with the others.Now they hold places among the mortals, living and helping as they think is best. Solitary creatures, whose secrets keep them from forming any real bonds, they wander from life to life, always enduring, always healing, until, one day, they no longer do.But they are not the only ones to endure from that time, and while their faces and true names are remembered they are always in danger.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 19





	1. Meet the team

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the ideas behind the Old Guard with regards to how immortality works. It will not follow the story of the Old Guard too closely but there will be a lot of similarities, enough to tag it.
> 
> I'm not planning on any old guard characters being in this.

The Showman

The roar of the crowd was always a draw for him and it was the same now. He stepped out and felt thousands of voices crying his name, the same name he had carried back when arena walls in ancient Capua quaked under the uttering of its syllables. He threw his best smile to the camera, posed and preened like the crowd expected, then made his slow walk down to the ring, where his opponent waited. Sure, the outcome was pre planned, the moves a specially choreographed violent dance, but he had tried UFC fighting and various Olympic fighting events over his long life and nothing equated to the feel he got from wrestling.

Gannicus! Gannicus!

The crowd roared on. He was the favourite, had been for the ten years he had wrestled under his true name with a made up name as his “true identity”. The ladies loved him. The men admired him. He was never short of the things he loved, namely wine and sex, and had enough money to ensure their endless supply. 

He had never been happier in his long life.

His opponent greeted him with a hidden smile before they both slipped on their warrior faces. Gannicus handed his championship belt to the referee, flexed a little for the crowd, and launched into the intricate moves he and his opponent had choreographed over long, painful weeks.

He returned to the locker room two hours later with enough pains to make him feel human once more. The championship belt once again adorned his waist, though he had known it would from the beginning, and his blood sang with the crowds adoration. Nothing could break his mood, or so he thought.

It was a message on his phone that dragged his mood down. After reading he quickly dialled the number.

“You think you can summon me like a trained dog?” he said in Latin. “Does the past mean nothing to you.”

“My hand was forced by another,” Laeta hissed. “It is their summons, not mine, and if you have any sense left in your wine pickled brain you will heed them.”

“Who makes such a request?” Gannicus demanded. “Speak, or see request ignored.”

“I have been sworn to secrecy, but know this is not a meeting you will want to miss. Meet us at the arena in Capua in three days, once the moon is high.”

Gannicus laughed. “Capua? In the ruins of old glory and pain? Only a Roman bitch like you could make such a request.”

“And you can think of no other who would like to stand upon the ruins?”

Something in her tone caught Gannicus' attention. “You lie.”

Laeta's voice turned into a snarl. “See words as truth or lie with your own eyes by coming here, and pray to the gods that the drink does not see your immortal life to fucking end before then.”

She hung up. Gannicus stared at his phone screen for a long time. She could not be speaking the truth, but if there was even the slightest chance then he had to see for himself. He gathered up his things and left for the airport without another word.

The soldier

A strange calm settled over Agron as he moved as one with his team. This was what he did best, carrying weapon in hand, moving silently and with purpose towards deserving target. He had been some form of soldier since he had parted ways with the last of their little group several hundred years ago. 

His senses sharpened in the quiet streets. The sun was strong above his head but he was used to the heat, used to the sand and the dust, though not in so much armor. The gun in his hand was a world away from the swords and spears he had used in the past, but a weapon was a weapon. It would kill.

As they stepped into the empty house and looked around, Agron heard a whoosh in the air. He sighed heavily. 

“Fuck the gods!” he cursed loudly before his world was engulfed in flame and rubble.

The first breath was always the worst. On this occasion, Agron felt his quickly healing ribs pop back into place on that first gasp of air. His leg knitted together afterwards, and his vision slowly came back as his eye repaired along with his cheekbone. He sat for a moment, gathering himself as the pain finally subsided then he got to his feet. Well, it was time for a new life. The others were all dead, and the state of the building meant Agron couldn't fabricate a story of a lucky escape so he could remain with the army. At least he had only been with the British forces a few years, not long enough to form any real bonds, unlike the last time he had supposedly died in action.

He broke the dog tags that bore his fake name Daryl Smith on them and cast them upon the ground. Using his knife he grit his teeth and severed his left arm halfway up his forearm. It would grow back, painfully and not as quickly as smaller injuries, but he had to leave some trace. 

He moved around, letting blood spray from the wound, then cut a small piece of flesh from his scalp. With his death scene suitably constructed he left as quickly as he could, shooting any enemy who crossed his path. Even one handed he had deadly accuracy.

Where would he start over? He managed to avoid his face getting out beyond his small group of people he knew, but it was getting harder as mobile phones became more prevalent. Perhaps it was best to lay low for a bit. He had to while his arm grew back.

As if mentioning the device brought it to live, his mobile vibrated. He fished it from the inside pocket of his army uniform and checked the screen. It was a message, and despite not being on the best of terms with its sender and dreading meeting the others who might answer the same call, he needed somewhere to go while he continued his next move.

And who knew. Maybe visiting Capua and witnessing the ruins of the places that had caused him so much pain would be cathartic.

The Vigilante

It had taken time to find a purpose, especially when Naevia had the added burden of fighting hundreds of years of racial and gender based oppression. Pretty quickly, she realized that she couldn't wait for space to be made for her, she would clear room herself.

She was something of a legend now, a dark cloaked figure who killed traffickers and pimps and liberated any who found themselves sold into the world of sexual slavery. The tattoo on the back of her right shoulder was a constant reminder of the servitude she had once faced and the pain and suffering handed to her by someone she thought kind and warm, a mother figure.

It was the same for these people. Mostly young women, though some men and children were among them. They had all trusted someone to look after them, to help, only to be forced to give their bodies to those who would abuse them again and again, and when they were an exhausted, soiled mess, cast them aside.

Naevia made quick work of the traffickers, slitting throats as silently as a ghost in the night. She had no desire to draw the deaths out nor make a big show of what she was doing. She had one purpose and now, keys in hand, she could fulfil it. She returned to the street and, with a nod, summoned the others inside, people from various charities and services who cared for the victims of trafficking.

She unlocked the rooms in the hallway in turn and in each one the filthy, starved inhabitants cowered back. She said the same words to them all as she entrusted them to the proper authorities. Now you are free.

Her nights work was not done with that one house. Several others in the same city had been identified by the authorities and through her own searching. Time was of the essence. If word of her exploits got out then the other traffickers could start killing their victims. By the time she returned to her rented apartment she was bloodied, exhausted, yet satisfied with the nights work.

Her mobile sat on the kitchen counter with its alert lights flashing. Naevia frowned. The only person who ever contacted her called, and the flash was the wrong colour for a missed phone call. Upon checking she found a message which quickly prompted her into making a phone call herself.

“What is the meaning of this?” She hissed when Laeta answered. 

“It is not my summons,” Laeta explained.

“You ignored my cry for help back in sixty-four. Why should I run to your side now?”

Laeta sighed. “As I said it is not my summons. Please answer them. I have been sworn to secrecy by the person who calls you all.”

Naevia snarled. “I am to travel back to a place of such pain and suffering on the whims of a stranger?”

“Not a stranger,” Laeta whispered. “One who is well known and long missed.”

Naevia frowned. “That's impossible. We found all from our time.”

“Not all,” Laeta sighed. “Please, forget our quarrels, this is more important. Please come.”

“I will see who this person is who makes such demands with anothers tongue,” Naevia said. “But know, if your words prove false, lying tongue will be cut from mouth!” 

She hung up without waiting for a reply and made plans for travel to Italy.

The Humanitarian

The first breath was always the worst.

Nasir whined and forced his intestines back into the hole in his abdomen as it knitted together. The man who had slashed him open was long gone with almost all of Nasir's belongings. He must have been disturbed because his phone was still in the bag that was strapped to his stomach, now spattered with gore. Money was replaceable. His Red Cross ID would be of little use when his attacker did not look like him. There was a reason they didn't carry much into the field at least. Desperate people who had lost everything would take any opportunity they could.

“Nasir!” His name echoed in the streets, a name he had been able to retain on and off over his long life.

He sat up as his friend ran towards him. His t-shirt was torn, and luckily, he still had a gash to show to explain the blood and how he had ended up on the ground.

“I'm OK, Aimar,” he said, and gently pushed the other man away as he got to his feet. “he slashed my stomach, but only caught my skin.”

Aimar touched Nasir's stomach, examining the wound. “It's barely anything. Why is there so much blood?”

Nasir's heart hammered in his chest. “I bleed heavily I suppose.”

Aimar rolled his eyes. “Let me patch you up. It might be a small cut but it can still get infected.”

Nasir was about to protest but the noise of jets overhead spurred them to run to the car. Speeding through the ruined streets, they remained silent as the gunfire started once more. Nasir glanced back as Aimar drove. No one seemed to be on the streets at least. After so long in war the Syrian people had a sixth sense of when the bombardments would start once more, something that Nasir, technically being an ancient Syrian, had missed out on. That instinct however, one Aimar, also Syrian, seemed to have, was no match against the speed of a missile fired directly at them nor the huge amounts of damage it caused.

As the car flipped up under the force of the explosion from the missile hitting the nearby building, Nasir pulled Aimar to him, shielding him from the glass and shrapnel with his immortal flesh. They seemed to roll forever, their world nothing but squealing metal and fire.

The sharp breath Nasir took was the only way he had of knowing that he had died again. Pain erupting low in his hip drew his attention. A bar had ran him through. It was thin and would be easy enough to remove. He pulled on it and heard a feeble groan.

Aimar was impaled on the other end of the bar. Blood seeped out around the metal and bubbled with each breath. His lung was punctured for sure.

“Hold still,” Nasir whispered. He braced one hand on the bar as close to Aimar's chest as he could manage and held the other end of the bar where it protruded from his hip. He attempted to slide on the bar, still leaving it within Aimar but his screams put any attempt to a halt.

“Pull it out,” Aimar mumbled. “I won't survive, but you might if you can get out.”

“I am not going without you,” Nasir whispered. He rested his forehead against his friends. “The others will be looking for us.”

Nasir reached for his mobile, but the twisted body of the car and the metal that impaled them prevented much movement and he could not reach it. There was nothing to do but wait.

Over the hours that passed, Nasir tried many different things to free them from their predicament. Every move he made pulled on the bar and drew weaker and weaker moans from Aimar. He cried out for help until he had no voice, tried to reach his phone in his inside pocket, but it was all in vain. Help eventually came as the sun was setting, but one look at Aimar's face and Nasir knew it was too late. He kissed his friends forehead and, with shaking fingers, gently closed his eyes.

When he finally got back to the accommodation he shared with the other Red Cross workers news was all around the camp of Aimar's death and Nasir's injuries. His hip had healed pretty quick, thankfully after the medics had bandaged him up, but he affected the limp people were expecting to keep his cover. He sat wearily on the pallet that was his bed and wondered why the tears would not come.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket. A message from someone he had not expected to hear from ever again. He try to call but the signal was bad, he was in a war zone after all. Instead he sent a message promising he would meet her. Without a word to his colleagues or superiors he packed his things and walked out of camp.


	2. Blood and Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrive at the arena in Capua as instructed, but something is not quite right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going to be a gory fic this these characters can survive anything. Apologies in advance.

They ran into each other as they were leaving the airport, purely by accident. As always, Naevia and Nasir took a moment to hug each other, forehead to forehead, reconnecting in silence as a world they were not really a part of raged around them still.

“How many,” Naevia asked. 

“Twelve since last we were in each others company,” he hooked Naevia's arm through his and led her towards the rental cars. “You?”

“Ten,” she replied, “But then I do not work in a war zone.”

Nasir smiled. “You wage a different battle, and just as important.”

“And when they do happen, have you noticed any difference?” Naevia asked quietly, fearing the answer.

Nasir shook his head. “I had two happen in quick succession just three days ago. No traces are left.”

“Good, it is the same for us both.” Naevia leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment.

Once a car had been hired and they were on the road the real questioning started. “Have you spoken to him yet?” Naevia asked softly. She knew the answer already.

Nasir chewed the inside of his cheek. How, after so long, did the mere mention of him, and not even by name, anger him so? “When I have something further to add to what has already been said then I will.”

“It's been six hundred years, Nasir. Is what he did really that bad?”

“It was not just him but us both. It was a rift caused by hundreds of years of unspoken words and repressed hurt.” He swallowed hard. Such a conversation had to happen when his emotions were already a mess. “I do not speak with him but nothing will change what has happened between us.”

“But you still feel for him,” Naevia said. It was not a question but an observation.

Nasir paused for a moment but nodded. “Of course I do. He was my first love. The first to hold me in loving embrace. He soothed both bruised heart and injured soul and I will never forget him. But as I already explained to you when he and I first parted, some things are unforgivable.”

Silence settled heavily between them. Nasir breathed a sigh of relief. He expected the same well meaning yet patronising speech from Naevia about how she would never let go of Crixus if he still lived. But while the two of them had a similar path through slavery and the misuse of their bodies they were not the same, Agron and Crixus were not the same, and Naevia, whether for good or bad, never got to witness what a man bred for fighting like Crixus and Agron were could become as the face of war changed.

“I will stay by your side, if you wish it. Shield you from attempted conversation.” Naevia placed her hand his leg.

He risked letting go of the steering wheel for a moment to squeeze her fingers. “Gratitude. You truly are my oldest and dearest friend.”

The ruins of the arena were now a historical site and well signposted. Nasir easily navigated the route though it was now fully dark and parked up outside. There was no sign of other vehicles, nor other people. With a quick nod and a flash of dagger to prove to each other they were armed, they left the car and made their way into the dark ruins.

“This feels like a cruel jest,” Naevia whispered. “Why bring us back here?”

“Such was my first question too,” said a familiar voice behind them.

“Gannicus,” Nasir smiled and hugged the man tightly. Naevia did the same. “You forsake your limelight to stand in this place?”

Gannicus cast his eyes around the ruins. “It is a strange thing indeed to stand upon these sands once more but it is not as bad as I feared. I just hope our mysterious summoner reveals themselves soon.”

“Who do you think it is?” Naevia asked.

“It can only be one man surely,” Agron said as he stepped towards them. His eyes fell upon Nasir and he hung back. “That is why we are all here, is it not? Because we know who we would be meeting.”

Gannicus hugged his fellow gladiator, his ever present smile never falling. “Agron speaks truth, as ever he did. Even now, so far removed from this place through memory and years there is still one man we would all follow.”

“Though some may find such loyalty a problem,” Agron muttered.

Nasir bristled. “It was not your loyalty I found fault with,” 

“Strange to assume I was referring to you.” Agron crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh you were, we all know you were,” he stepped forward but Gannicus stood in between.

“Brothers, please. Lets not fight.”

Nasir's lip lifted in a snarl but he stepped back all the same, hands open and outstretched. “I am seeking no quarrel tonight. I simply want to discover who this person is then get back to my life.”

“As do we all,” Naevia said. “The moon has risen. Laeta better make her presence known soon or face my wrath.”

Agron laughed under his breath but did not speak even when all eyes were upon him.

A whistle from the other side of the arena drew their attention. There stood Laeta, dressed in modern clothing like they all were yet just as recognisable. She beckoned them over with a crook of her finger and, reluctantly, the others approached.

“Fucking bitch,” Naevia grumbled. “She still thinks the empire endures and we are under her sandal.”

Nasir's lips curled up in a smile at those words but he added nothing to them. Suddenly, Agron stepped in front of them.   
“Go back!” He hissed. “Something isn't right.”

“Such a paranoid mind you have developed,” Gannicus laughed. “Laeta may be Roman, but she was one of us for--”

“I agree with Agron,” Nasir said, surprising himself more than the others. “There is an ill taste on the air.”

As one the group stopped and, slowly backed up a few steps before breaking into a run, all except Agron.

“I will cover retreat!” he roared. He drew his gun and turned to Laeta but a bullet struck him in the forehead, blowing out the back of his head.

Nasir skidded to a stop and ran back. Slinging Agron's body over his shoulder he lifted him and attempted to run, but the weight was too much. White hot pain radiated through his leg and he sank to the ground. Another colourless spot of agony spread out from his spine and he slumped hard upon the sand with Agron's weight upon him.

“Come back to us you fucking shit!” He bellowed at Agron. “Rise faster!” He tried to move, but whatever damage he had taken to his spine had rendered him paralysed from the shoulders down. Naevia's war cry was a welcome sound as was the clash of steel upon steel and gunfire. He could only hoped he healed fast enough to help turn the tide.

Agron finally sat up with a sharp intake of breath and rose fluidly to his feet. He grabbed his gun and jumped into the fray, leaving Nasir exposed and alone as his body took its time healing. He roared as he ran and fired shot after shot. Their enemies fell heavily but, all too soon, some were rising once more. A bullet hit Agron's shoulder, exploding the bone and leaving him with just his newly healed left arm to fight with. He kept firing as did Naevia, as did Gannicus. And when the enemy got to close for bullets knifes drove into flesh instead.

Naevia fell to a knife in her chest, but rose once more a few moments later, snarling with fury and driving the blade, still trailing her own blood, into the neck of her attacker. Gannicus too fell, his neck dangling from a thin sinew of flesh. His wound would take to long to heal. They were now two.

Something moved past Agron at speed and blocked a knife that had been thrown his way. “Carry Gannicus back to my car,” Nasir demanded and threw him the keys. As he spoke a gunshot connected with the side of his face, blowing his lower jaw off as it sucked the life from him.

Agron screamed. Despite knowing the death was temporary, despite having seen Nasir rise from much worse he fell to his knees, cradling his former lovers body. A single moment he took to press forehead to forehead before he rose again, a moment only so short because, finally, he had spotted who was behind the deception. From the roar Naevia let loose it was clear she had seen him too.

“Caesar!” she bellowed, evoking her long dead lovers voice for a moment and shaking the arena with the timbre of her voice, but it was not just Caesar who stood there, grinning smugly, but the man who had finally beaten Spartacus. Marcus Crassus.

Agron lunged across the arena only to collide with a hooded figure. “Retreat!” he demanded.

Something in that voice stopped Agron in his tracks. Naevia too had heard the command and turned on her heels. Nasir was back on his feet once more, bloody drool dripping from his half formed jaw. Gannicus lumbered into a run. His neck still bearing the scar of the cut that would have taken any mortal mans life.

The hooded figure ran with them, occasionally shooting back behind them when bullets got to close. They piled into the one vehicle in the vicinity, Nasir's rented car, and Agron took the wheel with the hooded man by his side shouting instructions. He was too shaken to argue.

Gannicus rubbed at his neck and groaned. He was immortal but that didn't save him, nor any of them from pain. Something Nasir's barely concealed whines were testament to. He looked into the rear view mirror and met the eyes of the hooded man. A shiver passed through him.

“Who is this mad fuck who comes to our aid,” he asked, though he felt he already knew the answer.

“Questions are best saved for when we are in a safe place, but for now-” the man pulled back his hood - “you may call me Spartacus.”


	3. Brotherhood broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frayed nerves turn ancient friends to harsh words

Burning questions were held out of the necessity of navigating their way out of Crassus' grasp. They drove for what felt like miles under Spartacus' instruction, then abandoned the car in the undergrowth and followed each other through the darkness until they reached an abandoned house. Spartacus unlocked a small door in the side of building, locked it tight behind them, then led them through another heavily locked door and down many spiralling steps. They were deposited into a large room which contained a number of antique chairs and couches. The walls were covered in heavily laden bookshelves, the floors with thick, faded rugs.

Naevia was first to break from the shock they all felt. She drew her dagger in a swift motion and strode towards Spartacus. “What is fucking meaning of this treachery?” She hissed. “And what of Laeta's involvement tonight?”

Spartacus sighed heavily. “I did not know she still lived until a few days ago, and I had no idea of her intentions. We have not shared words since before my first death.”

“Convenient,” Gannicus snorted. “She was your woman, was she not?”

Spartacus narrowed his eyes. “For a short time, but I imagine me continuing to draw breath was just as much as a shock to Laeta tonight as it was to you.”

“Then how is it you happened to be here, in this place, at the right time.” Naevia advanced once more and shrugged off Agron's hand upon her shoulder as he tried to still her. 

“Because I never left,” Spartacus said, his voice calm.

“Enough!” Naevia snapped. “Why are they here? Why did Laeta summon us? And how did you know enough to be there at the right time?”

“I have been tracking Crassus for years and wondered what he was up to. That is the only reason.” Spartacus said. “Please, allow me a moment to explain.”

Naevia held her ground, dagger poised and ready to thrust home. Finally, she straightened up. “Speak then, and spare no details.”

#

They all silently listened to Spartacus as he wove his tale through the long years of his life, from waking up under the stones lovingly piled on what Nasir and Agron had thought was his lifeless body to dying once more before he could remove them. When he finally popped from the earth like a perennial weed the Roman's set upon him and, confused, dehydrated, and weak as he was, he was easily taken to Crassus. 

There began a cat and mouse game that lasted for centuries. Spartacus was nailed to the cross, like so many of their number were, and just like Gannicus, had suffered the long road to death only to breathe again and suffer more. Nasir reached for Gannicus, who sat near him, and squeezed his hand to soothe painful memory.

He was eventually pulled down from the cross when he refused to die and was given respite for a few years while the Romans feared him and his inability to die, but Crassus' wrath endured. It burned after his death at the hands of Syrian armies, long after Agron's people, along with others, had sacked Rome, after the empire fell and Rome was replaced with Italy and its Renaissance. And Spartacus engaged him every time, spurred by the same anger that drove Crassus, and with each engagement Spartacus' on rage grew. The man simply would not let him live.

At the beginning of the 17th Century they both grew tired of their personal war. The world had changed around them and they had witnessed none of it. A truce was called and they went their separate ways.

“Fearing the truce would not last,” Spartacus said. “I built this place, hidden beneath the ruins above. There are tunnels we can escape through if need arises, but, for now, know this place and its defenses will keep you safe. I invite you all to stay, sleep under its roof, rest while you can. If Crassus still holds the determination he did when hunting me then we may never sleep soundly again.”

The room was silent for a moment as the others digested all they had learned. “Why did you not look for us?” Nasir finally said.

Spartacus smiled softly. “And bring Crassus to your door?”

“You said you had at least three centuries of peace, why not then?” Nasir looked to the others, seeking their support. “We fought by your side. Gave our lives for you when we still believed them finite. Did we not earn some form of contact from you?” He paused for a moment as he tried to keep the shake out of his voice. “I fought with the Visigoths when they brought destruction to Rome itself. When I stood in that city, with Roman blood upon me and victory in my hands I wept. I cried for you, that you had never seen what you had worked so hard for come to fruition. That some many of us had fallen in the attempt. But you were there, weren't you?”

“I did not know this,” Agron whispered. Nasir waved off his concern.

“Apologies,” Spartacus said softly. “I did not wish to cause you harm, Nasir, I never have.”

“You put an end to my life by sacking my villa and killing my dominus. You spoke of choice but, really, what choice did I have but to stand and fight with you, for you? If I had left, a slave boy absent collar and dominus while you and your gladiators raged around Italy I would have been killed or worse. It is your fault I still endure through everything, and you could not even make contact.”

“You would have preferred to live out your days with your dominus fucking you whenever he pleased?” Agron snapped. “We gave you another chance to live.”

“You forced it upon me!” Nasir snapped. “And yes, when I picked up sword and spear it was by my own choice because I would not be some useless house slave whose only position came from who lay between his legs at night. I fought believing it was to bring people to safety, to true freedom, away from the need to fight for their very right to draw breath, and now you tell me you have been locked in a centuries long petty argument with a Roman? Was that all our cause was?”

“Did we not see hundreds over the mountains?” Spartacus growled. “Was not your life and those of countless others made better by our cause?”

Nasir fell silent though his glare remained. Spartacus took advantage of the pause to press on. “You were pulled from a life of slavery and rape and became one of my best warriors. You found love,” he gestured towards Agron. “You had brothers and sisters who loved and respected you, still do. Would you rather we had never darkened your door. That you had passed from this world never more than a slave?”

Nasir still did not speak. Suddenly, he got up and made his way for the stairs. Gannicus was first to react but the others followed. Gannicus caught Nasir around the waist as he ascended the stairs and brought back down onto the landing.

“Remove fucking hand!” Nasir yelled. He broke free of Gannicus' hold easily, but his way upstairs was blocked by Agron and Spartacus. “I will not remain here with false friends!”

Crassus will be looking for you,” Agron hissed.

“And what will he do, kill me?” Nasir growled. “I will simply rise again like I have done countless times, no matter what the manner of death.” He threw a glare Agron's way.

“Please stay here tonight,” Spartacus urged. “We must speak again once we are all in better frame of mind.”

Nasir jabbed his finger at his neck. “You tore my collar off, remember! You cannot keep me here!”

“Perhaps then you should listen to counsel of old friends,” Gannicus whispered and placed a calming hand on Nasir's arm. “And take advantage of safe space to unburden your heart.”

Nasir relented for a moment and leaned against Gannicus before regaining for his composure. “If I must stay here then I would be out of your company,” he snapped at Spartacus. “Allow me some fucking space to digest the news that a brother I held dear did not once look for me or any of our number over these long years.”

With a sigh Spartacus gestured to the other doors in the hallway. “There is space enough for you all and more.”

“Strange,” Nasir smirked. “When the only reason we are here is because your hand was forced.” He tore himself away from Gannicus and went into one of the other rooms.

“I shall go to him,” Agron insisted.

“It would be best to leave him to calm down,” Gannicus grabbed his arm. “I fear there is more to his mood than Spartacus' sudden arrival back into our lives.”

“And what do you know of his heart?” Agron growled. “You are fucking nothing to him.”

Gannicus laughed. “Oh Agron, must you piss off everyone who ever held you dear?”

Agron lashed out, catching Gannicus hard in the noise. Spartacus moved between them.

“Fall to reason!” he snarled. 

“I will fall to reason once he fucking leaves Nasir alone,” Agron growled.

“You have no say over who he spends time with or what he does with them,” Gannicus said firmly. The look in Agron's eyes caused him to soften his voice. “He will go to who he wishes if he wishes to speak with anyone.”

Agron rolls his eyes. “And will that be before or after he has slit own throat in one of his moods?”

Gannicus rolled his eyes. “You have really learned nothing, have you?”

Naevia shook her head. “Men! Always the same fight no matter how long the years stretch out.” She pointed her dagger at Spartacus. “I would have tell of how you and Laeta came to be here tonight and why she did not move from Crassus' side when he and his followers attacked us.”  
“As would I,” Gannicus said. “Nasir will be fine,” he said to Agron. “He needs time to adjust, you know this.”

Agron continued to look down the hallways where Nasir had gone. “And if he is not fine?”

Gannicus shrugged. “He cannot die. Any other harm he comes to will heal quick.”

Agron finally turned from the hallway and followed the others back to the living room.


	4. Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Agron's sorrow gets the better of him an old friend checks in on him, but harsh words are not far behind his well meaning visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have at least five different versions of this chapter that all do different things, but I think I have finally hit on something that at least moves the story forward. I am struggling a little bit because I have omitted Nile's character from the Old Gaurd as, with the Spartacus characters, there would be no modern day person to find, though i did consider bringing an OC in. Its not like I have characters exactly like the others anyway :)
> 
> Ok, so here it is. its not great but it gives us some more info to what happened to separate Nasir and Agron and also moves the story on, so it is serving its purpose.

No matter how many times Agron read about his own death, even when the obituary carried his made up names, it still jarred something deep inside him. It was a similar feeling to when he first travelled a long distance by sea and the waves held the craft in its mercy, rocking it back and forth as gentle as a mothers hand upon a cradle. There was no danger, no threat, nothing to do, but something felt deeply wrong.

He scanned through the story again. He and his immortal companions had no next of kin in the mortal world, and his heart grew heavy for those mortals he had known, befriended, and loved who were now finding this out and unravelling his carefully constructed stories. He kept them simple, of course, many people had no family, and he had been around so long and travelled so much that he was largely devoid of accent, meaning he could claim what background he wanted. But now they would know the person they had known was a lie.

Tears filled his eyes as messages started to come through on his phone. Dwayne, a man he had shared the bed of when circumstances allowed in recent months, told him over and over again how much he missed him. Grief had sweetened his words far more than their circumstances warranted, but his message, coupled with other messages of condolence for not just him but those who had died along with him were too much. He held his grief in until it burst forward in a hiccuping sob.

Someone knocked upon the door, almost too softly to be heard. Agron quickly wiped his face. “Who is there?”

“Nasir,” he answered through the door. “Are you alright?”

Agron thought about lying and letting his once upon a time lover return to his room untouched by his sorrow but he had never been able to hide anything from Nasir. He got up, forced a smile, and opened the door.

“I was merely reading my own obituaries and wallowing in self pity,” he said with a laugh. “Gratitude for your concern.”

Nasir's expression was unreadable and his own eyes betrayed tears long since dried. “You died recently? Before this evening I mean.”

“The day I received the call to come here, so three days ago I believe,” Agron said.

“It was the same for me. Twice in one day,” Nasir moved through the same motions Agron did, forcing smiles and trying to sound happy when he clearly wasn't. “Sorry to have troubled you so late in the night.”

He walked away. Agron stood in the half open doorway and chewed his lip. What was the worst that could happen from what he asked? They were already separated with no hope of reconciliation after six hundred years. No rejection would match the sting of that. “If you desire,” he said, finally plucking up the courage. “We could talk together, share our burdens?”

Nasir was slow to turn around, even slower to answer but when he did Agron could barely believe it. He nodded and approached the room once more. Agron stepped back to let him inside then closed the door behind them.

They had not been along together since before the incident that had separated them. Images from that horrific day that had torn their love apart spilled through Agron's mind. Nasir's greying face. The blood pooling under him and soaking his hair. The blade plunged deep in his chest with frightening precision and finding its mark deep within his immortal heart. And upon the handle, driving deep the sword...

Agron shook his head to dislodge it. Perhaps some forgiveness had passed between them if Nasir was here now?

“How did it happen?” Nasir said softly. 

He seemed thinner than the last time Agron had seen him, back when Naevia had called on the help of all of her brothers some seventy years ago, but perhaps it was just what he wore. No one wore sweat pants and a t-shirt to show off their body after all.

“A missile,” he answered and sat down on the bed. He patted the space beside him, inviting Nasir to sit. “You.”

“The same, as strange as it sounds. Well, that was the second time.” He sat down heavily and rested back against the headboard. “The first time was a desperate man in search of food or money to buy it. He gutted me.”

Agron pulled a face. “A nasty way to die, but it's not the worst I suppose.” He winced, thinking he had given the perfect set up for Nasir to mention what had separated them, but he only sighed.

“Why do we do this, Agron?” His voice cracked with emotion. “Why do we insist on remaining around mortals?”

“How could we not. We are but a handful and, eventually, even the fondest of friendships sour for a time.”

Nasir threw him a glare. “I did not sour of your company. I had times when I was angry with you, as you did with me.”

“I did not specifically mean you or our situation. I know why we are no longer together and I am still striving for a way to make amends.”

Nasir sighed. “If I were mortal you would never be able to make amends.”

“But you're not. You are here, living, breathing, listening. I can fix things.” Agron reached for Nasir's hand but drew back when Nasir did. “Apologies. It was not my intention to bring this up when I asked you to talk. Tell me, why your heart is heavy.”

After a moment where Nasir glanced at the door a few times the tension finally left his shoulders. “A friend of mine, a mortal, died in my arms. I died before he did, but, of course, I came back. If the medics had gotten to us quicker...” he trailed off and shook his head.

“Didn't you get a medical degree?” Agron asked softly.

Nasir shrugs. “I have four since I must constantly update my knowledge and date of completion to actually practice medicine. But what good is any medical knowledge when you are stuck together in a wreck, pierced by rusted metal and held together in grim death.”

“Apologies,” This time Nasir did allow Agron to squeeze his hand, albeit briefly. “Were you close with him?”

“He was like a brother to me. War took his life. A war to actively take part in.”

Agron rolled his eyes. Here it was, the same old fight. “I fight to keep people safe.”

“You have been in the areas I have. You cannot still hold this unfounded belief!” Nasir snarled.

“What do you think these lands would be like without us fighting for them? Full of dictators punishing their own people. No checks on human rights violations. No curbing of laws that would see people like us dead!”

Nasir snorted a laugh. “People like us?”

“Men who take other men as lovers.” Agron shook his head, exasperated. “Why must I always justify myself? You have your part to play, and it is a much needed part, but you need to acknowledge the importance of what I do. You were a warrior once, can't you see why I have to fight?”

“I am still a warrior. It is you who changed to just being a soldier.” Nasir got his feet. “This was a mistake. Clearly things are too raw between us to speak yet.”

“I suppose you seek Gannicus now?” Agron growled.

Nasir took a moment to answer. Time where it was clear he was cooling his temper. “What business of it is yours? You brought him into our bed, not me, then fucking found fault in me when I grew close to him. Never loved. Not now, not ever, but developed a fondness. Was I supposed to feel nothing for someone who was a friend before we fucked?”

Agron shrugged. “I was merely as--”

“Do not think me a fucking fool.” Nasir stepped close to him once more, leaning over to bring his face close to Agron's, who still sat upon the bed. “You ask because you wish to keep tabs on me. Do you think the others do not tell me when you attempt to check on me through them? Any claim you had over my heart died when your blade found it, and that ended any right you have to know my business.” He turned and marched for the door.

He never reached it.

The first explosion came from further down the hallway, perhaps from the stairwell. A second blew just outside the room, obliterating the door, wall, and any trace of Nasir. Agron dived forward blindly through the dust and chaos, but the roof above split in great fissures and buried Agron under the rubble.


End file.
